An Education Worthwhile
by catsintheattic
Summary: When your father works so hard to make you happy, there’s nothing much you can do about it. An insight into life at the Crouches.


Author's notes: Thanks to lj user"mikabird" for being my beta in all kinds of weather!

Jaelle n'ha Gilla challenged me to write a gen drabble either about Umbridge and Percy or about the Crouches – father and son. While Umbridge was out of the question, I went for the Crouches. Inspired by "Writing Lessons", a story from Araythea (on lj) about little Draco writing at his father's desk, the picture of another little boy came into my mind.

**An Education Worthwhile**

_"Should have spent a bit more time at home with his family, shouldn't he?_

_Ought to have left the office early once in a while ... gotten to know his own son."_

_(Sirius Black)_

Tugging his feet once more under him to heighten his position on the chair, Barty placed his sweaty little hands on the desk in front of him. He reached out again and was finally able to get hold of the peacock quill that rested on his father's desk. One fierce tug and the feather smoothly sailed towards him. A little smile broke through the stern determination on the boy's face. His father would soon see how much Barty was able to help him, how good a boy he was. He would be so proud. And then, he would find some time to play with Barty. His father was an important man – and always working.

With an important gesture, copying his father's mannerisms when he was at work, Barty dipped the quill into the ink well placed to his right. Not good! He had forgotten the paper! He discarded the dripping quill and grabbed one of the papers on his left, placing it in front of him, right in the middle of the desk. Then he took up the quill again and began to draw the name he shared with his father in big letters on each of the papers.

Soon, he was immersed in his task, completely forgetting about the world around him.

"Barty, don't!" His father's voice covered the distance between himself and his son, while the boy desperately tried to finish what he had come to do. Too soon, his father stood in front of the desk. He grabbed his son's arm, hard enough to make the boy wince. "What have you done?" The quill dropped to the ground, spilling the ink that was left in its shaft.

"Ouch, Daddy, you're hurting me!" Barty felt his arm being released.

"What have you done," his father repeated, with less anger and a new kind of emotion mixed into his voice. "I took these papers home with me and finished them this morning. Now I'll need to fix all of them, because you couldn't refrain from playing at my desk."

"I wasn't playing!" Barty defended himself. "I was signing papers, helping you, Daddy."

His father only sighed. "What a nice kind of help, son. How many times have I told you not to touch the things on my desk? Look at my quill – it's all rumpled. There is ink all over my desk as well as on your hands and clothes. Your mother will have to change you, and I will have to spend the rest of the day working."

Barty looked up and into his father's face. His eyes were more tired than angry now.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I didn't mean to mess up." He hung his head.

"I know, Barty." His father's voice was low and tired as well. "I'm sorry, too. I didn't want to hurt your arm or yell at you." He lightly rubbed over his son's arm. "Why did you do it?"

"I only wanted to help you," murmured Barty. Encouraged by his father's gentle touch and the fact that he took his time to listen, the boy continued, "I thought, that you might... have some free time then... to play with me."

He knew that he was being greedy. His mother had told him time and again. His father worked hard to make them a decent living, to make sure that Barty would be able to go to Hogwarts and get a good education. He shouldn't be ungrateful for what his father did for him. He glanced up once more into his father's face. The dark eyes were filled with utter sadness.

"Oh, Barty. I wish I could play with you. And I would have, but now I have to spell those papers clean and even rewrite the most damaged ones. Maybe next weekend, I will be able to have a day off on Sunday and we will go to the park together." His father briefly petted his head and then straightened the ruffled hair. "How about that?"

Barty felt his heart sink, but he beamed at his father nevertheless. "That sounds great, Daddy." He knew that next Sunday, another stack of papers would be sitting on his father's desk, and that he would disappear into his study for hours, until it would be time for Barty to go to bed. But he couldn't let his father down. Not when there was so much sadness in his eyes, reflecting the heavy feeling in Barty's chest. He nodded enthusiastically, before he slipped off the chair to leave his father to his work.

At the door, he turned to take a look at his father, who was already bending over the spoiled papers, wand in hand. "Daddy?" His father looked up. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Barty. Now go to your mum to get you changed into some ink free robes." His father gave him a brief smile, before he turned his attention back to his work.

Barty left the room. This night, he would lie awake in his bed again. He would strain his ears to catch the sounds of the shuffling of papers and the scratching of the quill. Until the image of his father sitting at his desk, busy with work, would finally lull him into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
